Since time immemo­r­i­al — or, in any case, since the mid-twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry — ado­les­cents have looked to rock stars for life lessons. This works out bet­ter with some rock stars than oth­ers, of course, and in bygone days kids would have to infer these lessons from song lyrics and the occa­sion­al Rolling Stone inter­view. Now that most of their musi­cal idols main­tain active, even gar­ru­lous pres­ences on sev­er­al forms of social media at once, inter­net-age young­sters in need of coun­sel have a great deal more mate­r­i­al to work with. Cer­tain rock stars have tak­en this respon­si­bil­i­ty seri­ous­ly, as you can see in the video above fea­tur­ing Radio­head mas­ter­mind Thom Yorke and pro­duc­er/­mul­ti-instru­men­tal­ist Nigel Godrich (also known as the men behind the super­group Atoms for Peace). If you find your­self con­fused by boys, let these two fortysome­thing Brits clear it right up.

You can find a lit­tle more cov­er­age of the video at, yes, Rolling Stone. “Yorke is par­tic­u­lar­ly sage about teenage love woes,” writes the mag­a­zine’s Jon Blis­tein. “ ‘If you have a crush on him,’ Yorke says, ‘if you’re real­ly, real­ly, real­ly, real­ly shy, which is what I was at that age — also, I was at a boys’ school so it was impos­si­ble to meet girls any­way — how about just write him a note? Or throw him against the wall some time.’ ” Yorke and Godrich’s sev­en­teen min­utes of advice comes as the lat­est install­ment in the series “Ask a Grown Man” from Rook­ie, just the sort of web mag­a­zine we wish we could have had back when we were teenage girls — if we were ever teenage girls, that is. We’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured Ira Glass’ seg­ment, and you can enjoy oth­er moments of sagac­i­ty with the likes of come­di­an-film­mak­er Judd Apa­tow, talk-show host Jim­my Fal­lon, and actor John Hamm. You cer­tain­ly would­n’t find them in the pages of Sassy.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ira Glass Makes Bal­loon Ani­mals and Gives NSFW Advice to Teens — At the Same Time!!

A Glimpse of Teenage Life in Ancient Rome

This is Your Brain in Love: Scenes from the Stan­ford Love Com­pe­ti­tion

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

It all came to an end with “The End,” the last real track on the Bea­t­les’ final stu­dio album Abbey Road.* Record­ed in July and August of 1969, “The End” takes up the last 2 min­utes and 20 sec­onds of the mas­ter­ful 16-minute med­ley (lis­ten here) that brings Abbey Road to a cli­max. And it fea­tures some of the last great “cos­mic, philo­soph­i­cal lines” (as John Lennon lat­er called them) the Bea­t­les left us to pon­der:

And in the end,
The love you take,
Is equal to the love you make.

The song also gave us some­thing we weren’t accus­tomed to: all four Bea­t­les per­form­ing a solo. Any ardent Bea­t­les fan knows that Ringo Starr nev­er liked drum solos. As Paul recalled years lat­er, “[Ringo] hat­ed drum­mers who did lengthy drum solos. We all did.” Despite this gen­er­al view, McCart­ney thought a solo worked on this final track, and it took a fair amount of “gen­tle per­sua­sion” before Starr relent­ed and gave us the only drum solo per­formed on a Bea­t­les album. You can hear it below.

The End has anoth­er sig­na­ture moment — the moment when Paul, George and John sparred on lead gui­tars, play­ing solos in rapid suc­ces­sion, with­out miss­ing a beat. As you’ll see in the anno­tat­ed video above, Paul kicks things off with a solo that fea­tures some fan­cy string bends. George picks up with some melod­ic slides. And John takes over with his own dis­tor­tion-filled solo. Around it goes three times, until we reach the end.

If you’re into Bea­t­les gui­tar solos, make sure you don’t miss “Here Comes The Sun: The Lost Gui­tar Solo by George Har­ri­son.” It’s delight­ful.

Note: When we call “The End” the last real track on Abbey Road, we’re dis­count­ing “Her Majesty,” the 23-sec­ond song that was tacked on as some­thing of an after­thought. We call Abbey Road the last stu­dio album because it was record­ed after (though released before) Let It Be.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Gui­tarist Randy Bach­man Demys­ti­fies the Open­ing Chord of ‘A Hard Day’s Night’

The Bea­t­les: Unplugged Col­lects Acoustic Demos of White Album Songs (1968)

Peter Sell­ers Reads The Bea­t­les’ “She Loves You” in Four Voic­es

In 1976 the great clas­si­cal gui­tarist Andés Segovia returned to Grana­da, Spain, the city of his child­hood, to per­form a few pieces on film at the 14th cen­tu­ry Moor­ish palace, the Alham­bra.

In the scene above, the 84-year-old Segovia plays a pair of gavottes from his own tran­scrip­tion of Johann Sebas­t­ian Bach’s Suite for Solo Cel­lo No. 6 in D Major, BMV 1012. A gavotte is a kind of folk dance, orig­i­nal­ly from France, that was pop­u­lar dur­ing the Baroque peri­od. Bach often incor­po­rat­ed them into his suites and par­ti­tas. In this per­for­mance, Segovia tran­si­tions from the bright and live­ly Gavotte I to the more restrained Gavotte II at the 1:54 mark.

The scene is from the doc­u­men­tary Andrés Segovia: The Song of the Gui­tar, which is avail­able on a two-film DVD, Andrés Segovia: In Por­trait. For more on Segovia, includ­ing his per­for­mance of Isaac Albéniz’s “The Leg­end of Asturias” from the same film, see our 2011 post: “Andrés Segovia, Father of Clas­si­cal Gui­tar, at the Alham­bra.”

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Art of Mak­ing a Fla­men­co Gui­tar: 299 Hours of Blood, Sweat & Tears Expe­ri­enced in 3 Min­utes

The Genius of J.S. Bach’s “Crab Canon” Visu­al­ized on a Möbius Strip

Glenn Gould Explains the Genius of Johann Sebas­t­ian Bach (1962)

Opin­ions may be like that oth­er thing every­one has, but nobody’s got opin­ions like John Lydon, a.k.a. John­ny Rot­ten of the Sex Pis­tols and Pub­lic Image Lim­it­ed. The punk tastemak­er nev­er holds back, and that’s why he’s so much fun in inter­views. Take the clip above, from an appear­ance on the UK’s Absolute Radio. Lydon offers his take on a few artists, some con­tem­po­rary, some aging pop stars. With no evi­dence of irony, he calls Lady Gaga “fan­tas­tic… wit­ty, clever,” and says her song­writ­ing is “bang up there.” Each to his own, I guess. Of Paul McCart­ney (who Lydon calls “McCarthy”), he says the for­mer Bea­t­le recent­ly sang “like an old don­key.” He opines that “Blondie” (does he mean Deb­bie Har­ry? Or are we back to Gaga?) “real­ly is a dob­bin,” and Madon­na is “kind of humor­less.”

It’s all off-the-cuff good fun, noth­ing for­mal, unlike the review above, where Lydon employs his con­sid­er­able crit­i­cal acu­men in a seri­ous review of a very seri­ous film: Katy Perry’s Part of Me. Although “not gen­er­al­ly a film crit­ic,” Lydon lets his gift for sar­cas­tic under­state­ment loose on a few clips from the movie. His review most­ly focus­es on Perry’s image, which seems appro­pri­ate. He’s pleased she shaves her armpits, but not with her var­i­ous dye jobs. He reach­es out to Per­ry in a very heart­felt way after see­ing her father, who is, he says, a “nut­ter.” And oh, there’s so much more, but you should watch it for your­self.

Pub­lic com­men­tary is not some­thing Lydon has only tak­en up in his old age, though he has made a sec­ond career of it late­ly. Last year, Dan­ger­ous Minds dug up a record­ing of a 20-year-old John­ny Rot­ten spin­ning his records for Cap­i­tal Radio in 1977 (below). He plays some Bowie (but he’s not a fan), Can, Cap­tain Beef­heart, John Cale, and plen­ty of dub reg­gae, intro­duc­ing each track with his char­ac­ter­is­tic wit. Appar­ent­ly, Sex Pis­tols man­ag­er Mal­colm McLaren didn’t want him to do it and hat­ed the inter­view and record selec­tions, but John­ny Rot­ten has nev­er been one to do what he’s told. Good for him—it’s an excel­lent lis­ten. You can find a full tran­script and track­list of the ses­sion here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

“Joe Strummer’s Lon­don Call­ing”: All Eight Episodes of Strummer’s UK Radio Show Free Online

2009 Kate Bush Doc­u­men­tary Dubs Her “Queen of British Pop”

Mal­colm McLaren: The Quest for Authen­tic Cre­ativ­i­ty

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Wash­ing­ton, DC. Fol­low him @jdmagness

A com­mon­place in rock and pop song­writ­ing: minor keys are sad (or dark or soft) and major keys are hap­py (upbeat, extro­vert­ed, etc.). Want to add some com­plex­i­ty? Set hap­py lyrics in a minor key or vice ver­sa. You don’t need much the­o­ry to grasp the con­cept (apply­ing it effec­tive­ly is anoth­er mat­ter). But even for clas­si­cal­ly trained com­posers, the why of it all is still a bit of a mys­tery. Guardian clas­si­cal music blog­ger Tom Ser­vice sug­gests that since the 17th cen­tu­ry, it’s become learned behav­ior, as is our ten­den­cy to fall into minor thirds when com­mu­ni­cat­ing sad­ness through speech. Whether a nat­ur­al or cul­tur­al phe­nom­e­non, there’s no doubt that trans­pos­ing tonal­i­ty can give a song vast­ly dif­fer­ent emo­tion­al res­o­nance.

Which is exact­ly what hap­pened with a recent viral dig­i­tal exper­i­ment: a tweak of R.E.M.’s tor­tured “Los­ing My Reli­gion” from minor to major so upset reli­gious blog­ger Matthew Lin­der, he com­ment­ed that the “change in tonal­i­ty white­wash­es the sor­row­ful song and brings in the Pollyan­naism of REM’s much derid­ed ‘Shiny Hap­py Peo­ple.’” Now I hap­pen to think “Shiny Hap­py Peo­ple” is a com­plete­ly stu­pid yet love­able song, but he does have a point. The tonal­i­ty hack, orig­i­nal­ly per­formed by MajorScaledTV, has also been done sev­er­al times by Ukrain­ian YouTube user MajorVs­Mi­nor, real name Oleg Berg and his daugh­ter Diana. The Bergs take songs like the godaw­ful “Final Count­down” by Europe and make them almost lis­ten­able, or ruin songs like “Hey Jude” (above).

And some­times a fas­ci­nat­ing thing hap­pens. Remem­ber that coun­ter­point between tonal­i­ty and con­tent I not­ed above? In some cas­es, the entire effect of a song depends upon that ten­sion, as is the case with George Gershwin’s “Sum­mer­time” from Por­gy and Bess. In the tweaked Ella Fitzger­ald ver­sion above, the lyrics—“and the liv­ing is easy”—lose their sex­i­ness, their melan­choly under­tones and strained irony, when the tune sounds as hap­py and straight­for­ward as the words. This is not an improve­ment, of course, but an inter­est­ing exam­ple of how form and con­tent push against each oth­er in com­po­si­tions more musi­cal­ly sophis­ti­cat­ed and emo­tion­al­ly com­plex than “Final Count­down.” Once these tweaked ver­sions of pop­u­lar songs lose their appeal as viral curiosi­ties (if they haven’t already), they’re sure to make excel­lent teach­ing tools for musi­col­o­gy pro­fes­sors.

MajorVs­Mi­nor have applied their treat­ment to over two dozen pop­u­lar songs and film and video game themes. Want to know how they do it? Watch Oleg and Diana reveal their secrets in the video above. There’s quite a bit more to their process than Evolver.fm assumed about MajorScaledTV’s REM exper­i­ment.

via Boing­Bo­ing

Relat­ed Con­tent:

R.E.M.’s “Los­ing My Reli­gion” Reworked from Minor to Major Scale

Bob­by McFer­rin Shows the Pow­er of the Pen­ta­ton­ic Scale

His­to­ry of Rock: New MOOC Presents the Music of Elvis, Dylan, Bea­t­les, Stones, Hen­drix & More

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Wash­ing­ton, DC. Fol­low him @jdmagness